My first thought as I awake is, “sunglasses”. I try to
open my eyes without them and find I can’t. It’s 7:30, but I’ve been sunbathing
in my sleep for at least 2 hours, covers long ago kicked to the floor, face
turned instinctively to the window.
It rains here, a lot. But when the sun comes out, it does so
-not meekly- but with intention and ferocity.
With my eyes finally adjusted to the light, I stretch, sit
up, watch the baby sparrows’ morning rituals. Their world has existed of 4
square inches for too long now, and they are beginning to get antsy. Between
nibbles that Mom brings by, one daring sibling hops onto the side of the nest
and consciously employs his wing muscles for the first time, flapping clumsily,
then stumbles back into the nest before Mom gets home.
I soon realize I’m on the wrong side of the window, how
silly to still be inside. I sneak downstairs and out the back door, sunglasses
in hand, and breath in the beauty of the morning. And the morning seems to
breath with me. Glistening dew drops gracefully crown gently swaying grass
stalks, dancing a slow waltz to the rhythm of a distant waterfall, punctuated
only by busy birds, seeking breakfast. The confident peaks sit high and proud,
maternally guarding the life and breath in their precious valleys.
I launch the canoe and silently row up the lazily wandering
river, away from the last outpost on the edge of two million undisturbed acres
of wonder. I glide soundlessly along the shore, gradually shedding the
artificial barrier held stubbornly between human and nature.
Above the ever present song of surging waterfalls I hear a
snap, a tree branch inadvertently destroyed underfoot, and another. I pause,
hold my oars still, and wait. Snap, crack. A mother grizzly leads her two
yearlings into a grassy patch by the water’s edge to munch on some sedge. Our
eyes meet, and hold. I can almost perceive her thought process as she assesses
the potential danger, and concludes I am nonthreatening enough for her to
continue munching, but with her cubs in tow, she will not break her gaze.
The cubs sniff and snack, pounce and roll. Mama chomps away
on sedge, watching me watch her. I dissolve into my surroundings, losing all
perception of being separate from this complete scene. I am part of a painting,
perfectly peaceful, forever idyllic, where there are no faults, no imbalances,
no wrongs.
But of course, there is. And this life-depicted painting is
proof. Mama Bear would certainly rather be eating protein-rich salmon roe right
now, but the runs have not returned, and there are no fish to eat. This
must be concerning to a mother, responsible for providing food to fill three
hungry bellies, and finding only grass to do the job.
The minutes drift by. Mama is indifferent to my presence as
they munch along, romp and play, sniff the air and observe the world. Finally,
with a tired-sounding sigh and a quick grunt that seems to signal, “I’m done
here, c’mon kids”, Mama leads her babies through the lightly dancing grass and
they depart as gracefully as they appeared.
My sigh is not one of exhaustion but of contentment. I had
just been permitted to witness a truly ordinary event in the world. The thought
makes me smile, and I close my eyes to breath in the moment deeply before
taking up my oars and rowing my way home.
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